Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
When her hands feel warm, I release mine, and ask, “Better?”
“Much.” Staring at me, she swallows hard and suddenly tension is present.
“What happened?”
“Why did you do that?”
“Warm your hands up?”
“Yes.”
“Because they were cold.”
With her coffee cup in hand, she turns to the window, shifting so her arm rests on the back of the sofa. Watching the snowfall, she says, “I love the snow, the quiet, the coziness of being inside, and building snowmen.” When her gaze turns back to me, she looks sad. “People here are too busy to appreciate the joy in the simple things.”
“I do.”
“I’m discovering that’s true. Is that the key to happiness?”
“Being content is the key to happiness. Appreciating what you have, instead of wishing you had more.”
“You ever wanted what you can’t have?”
Dragging the pad of my thumb over my bottom lip, I think about it. “Only once.”
“What do you want that you can’t have, Hardy?”
She hangs on every second as it spans between us, I look her straight in the eyes, and say, “It’s bad luck to share your wishes.”
The anticipation leaves her shoulders and she sinks against the couch. Letting her head roll to the side, she says, “I guess we should go.”
Looking at my empty cup, I nod. “Yeah, I guess.”
Out on the sidewalk, I ask, “How are you getting home?”
“Subway.”
Looking at the time, it’s almost ten. “I’d feel better if you took a cab.”
“Are you worried about me, Mr. Richard?”
“I do worry about you. I also worry about your girls and why you refuse to give them the support they want.”
“My boobs hate being trapped by that cruel underwire, so I think it’s you who hates to see them carefree and happy.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing I hate about your breasts other than guys staring at them.”
Grabbing her coat and pulling it tighter to her, she laughs. “No worrying about that in winter. Hey, before you leave, we’re still on for Saturday?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” I step closer, closing the gap. “I missed you.”
Surprised by the turn in my tone, she looks up in curiosity. “You said that.”
“I wanted you to remember it. I want it to be the first thing you think of when you think of tonight.”
Her arms slide around my middle and she squeezes as my arms come around her, holding her close. She says, “I missed you too.”
Our usual goodbye begins with getting her safely into a cab and sending her on her way. I grab a taxi to take me back to Brooklyn instead of waiting around watching her taillights disappear into the dark down the city street.
Right when I get comfortable in the back of a warm cab, I get a text from her: I miss you already.
Leaning back, I smile, then respond: I miss you too, V.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday can’t come soon enough. I know. This is not real. Virginia’s made it more than clear that she wants another guy, but the next lesson is the one I’ve been waiting for. Well, besides the final lesson.
All sex aside, though I’ll use my skills to the best of my ability, she said being with me was easy. I feel like I’m always finding my way back to that word. As much as I’ve been saying it’s not easy being around her, it’s just because I want her in ways that she doesn’t want me. That makes it hard, literally all the time for me.
She’s right though. It’s easy to sit with her. It’s easy to talk to her. It’s easy to feel good around her. She makes me smile. She challenges me in ways that are unexpected—like the going without a bra thing. That befuddles me on a different level. It’s like she’s this vixen waiting to break free and has handed me the key to open the door.
Twenty-four hours until I put that key in the lock, but will it unleash her desires or set her free to be with another guy? It’s a risk she’s asked me to take without even realizing the risks involved.
Two lessons left to win her body.
Two lessons left to win her heart.
I will win the title, the grand prize, and all the blue ribbons. This is the Olympics of seduction, the final lap around the track. Do or die time. I’m determined to come out on top . . . or bottom, or from behind. I bet she’ll like it from behind.
***
Friday night at The Hideaway is always busy. The hookups are happening early and the crowd is spirited. Three of us—Romeo, Clive, and myself—are covering the bar and Eddie’s working the tables tonight—not something we usually do, but our bussing crew is late. Hiring more people is another thing on my never-ending list of things to do.
Cocktailing is fun. It’s entertaining. It makes money. It’s a skill that not everyone has. If they’re reading recipes, they need to go back down to the minors. We’re too busy to be looking up how much Angostura bitters goes in a Manhattan or white rum goes in a piña colada. Bartending is a profession and I expect my tenders to treat it as such. That is why I have low turnover. They are treated with respect and paid well. What they do on their breaks or how they get the customers back in the door is on them. As long as it’s legal, I’m good.